the navy), in whose house he and his family took refuge when driven by despair and death from their own, shared the general fate. No scene could be more terrible. So indeed the medical records of that time amply testify. “He even asks for death at the hand of Providence; he has no other refuge; is alone in the world; cares not for society; children—boys, young men—unfit to soothe grief.” Women alone fit for comforters and companions on such occasions.” Four letters of this description within a month, filled with wailings, disease, and death, give a melancholy picture of deep suffering, little short of the extremity of despair.
Letters and literature, as usual, deadened the sense of his own personal afflictions. Two of the former came from Gifford, in his blandest mood, apologizing for the author—infirmity of retaining borrowed volumes too long; and for the delays of those incurable clogs upon their labours, unpunctual printers. The first of these (May 1805) may be given:—
I am extremely sorry I was not at home when you did me the honour to call—more especially as I was anxious to make my best apologies to you for the unconscionable time I have detained your valuable volumes. One plea I may now offer, which is, that I was desirous of bringing you a set of Massinger, at the same time that I waited upon you with my best thanks. This I hoped to have done long since; but you who have had somewhat more experience than I have, need not be told that no set of men can vie with printers in deranging the most confident calculations—and I have been led on from month to month, and from week to week.
To-day, however, puts a termination to the business; and as soon as a set can be made up, I shall have the pleasure of waiting on you with it and of returning your little collections,